


Sticky Situations

by stuckybarnes



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Angst, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Protective Wade, Responsible Wade, Secret Identity, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wade Saves Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 09:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckybarnes/pseuds/stuckybarnes
Summary: Wade cocks his head, takes careful steps closer. He lets the fast food bag drop to the ground. “Uh. What the fuck did you get yourself into?” He asks then, raising his hands tentatively to peer at the web.“I got stuck,” Peter says dejectedly, head down.“No shit, Sugar,” Wade says loudly, punctuated by a confused laugh. “How - what - what kinda bondage...”(Prompt fill)





	Sticky Situations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreetingsFromThePunderworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreetingsFromThePunderworld/gifts).



> this was a VERY FUN prompt fill!
> 
> their prompt, in short: can a spider get stuck in its own web? yes.
> 
> this was super fun to write, and y'all know how i love hurt/comfort and angst...

It was past midnight on Friday, and the crisp chill in the mid-October air was beginning to seep into the durable material of Peter’s Spidey Suit.

Thankfully, he had just finished patrolling, and is more than excited to go to his apartment and _sleep._ Between college, patrolling, and his part-time job at The Bugle, Peter is breathtakingly _exhausted._

Peters’s apartment is small, pre-war, dingy, and freezing. But it’s his, and it smells like home, and his bed is soft and inviting. He can already imagine peeling his suit off and taking a shower, washing the city grime and sweat off his body. Within mere minutes he could be home, cocooning himself in the warmth of his blankets and falling fast asleep under the hidden-starlit smoggy city.

But after fighting with a group of bank robbers who used gloves that gave them all mutant-like strength, he got a bit beat up before finally webbing them to the stairs of the nearest police precinct.

There’s a bruise to his left temple that would surely make his Aunt May scream bloody murder, and his lip was split, making his mask sticky with blood. At least two of his ribs are bruised, making each breath shudder and burn. There was also a strong and _very_ unnecessary kick to the crotch that Peter did not appreciate _at all._

So, Peter goes with his better judgement and decides to just… lay down for a moment.  When you’re swinging from skyscrapers and have some injuries, it’s always better to be safe than sorry. He limps over to the brick walls of the alley he’s in, and tentatively climbs each brick, wincing as he does.  

He pulls himself over the edge and drops onto the roof. A few feet further in, he sees two thick metal pipes sticking out of the roof, slowly emitting steam - probably from a kitchen below. “Perfect.” Peter smiles, and his lip splits open again.

Peeling his mask up to his nose, he wipes what must be a combination of blood and snot away. On wobbly feet, he shoots thick cords of webbing between the metal pipes, until he makes a hammock. With the distant sound of honking cars, muffled laughter, and the occasional chirrup of a misplaced cricket, Peter drops down into the hammock, curls onto his side, and falls asleep.

When he wakes up again, he knows it’s only been a few minutes later, but something is wrong.

He must have tossed and turned in his sleep - something he does when his nerves are getting the better of him. He’s on his belly, and his legs have managed to weave through the webs of his hammock, arms crossed under his head as a pillow with his fingers gripping strands of webbing.

 _This is fine,_ he thinks. He gets tangled in his webs sometimes, and he always pulls himself out without an issue. But he’s been so anxious and stressed these past few weeks, between his job, and college, and being Spider-Man. Sometimes everything just sits too heavily on his shoulders.

His heightened senses always get worse when he’s under stress, which causes him to stress and panic even more, which results in causing him more stress, which which _whichwhichwhich._

It just spins itself madly around in an endless cycle, until every car honk in a five-mile radius is too loud, and every siren is blinding, and every task requires _way_ too much focus.

He yanks against the webs hard, but he doesn’t budge. Pushing a slow breath through his nose and closing his eyes, and tries to pull again. Nothing. His chest starts to feel heavy, and his already-bruised body hurts all over again from straining against the webs.

“Oh, no,” Peter breaths, voice low and tired. _Focus, Peter, you’re alright, this is just some webbing,_ he thinks.

He gives his body another experimental tug, but to no avail. “Oh, no, no. _No!”_ He groans, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head back in frustration.

As of now, he’s straddling the thick cords of webbing, his arms, thighs, and calves stuck inside them. He takes a shallow, ragged breath, and can feel sweat prickling the small of his back and matting his hair to his forehead.

His bottom lip quivers and he’s instantly embarrassed. He’s gotten stuck in his webs before, but that was when he was young. But with all the stress he’s been facing, and the sensory overload his heightened abilities give him, he’s just _panicking_ about being stuck.

A small whine escapes him, and he decides to blame his frustration instead of his anxiety.

"Was that a pathetic cry I heard?” A _far_ too cheery voice exclaims.

Peter jumps in shock, and his heart beats a wicked tattoo against his chest. He knows that voice - he knows that voice really well.

Wade Wilson - Deadpool - emerges, tossing a leg over and hoisting himself up easily. He gets to his feet, bites down on a Taco Bell bag to brush off his gloved hands, and inspects the surely miserable scene in front of him.

Peter grinds his teeth, but his pink cheeks and heaving chest takes away from his anger. Peter and Wade aren’t _friends,_ but they’re more than just acquaintances. They have a frankly surprising compatibility that surprises Peter. There’s a certain level of respect that nobody knows what to make of. Wade is crude and inappropriate, but he’s… good. He’s good somewhere deep, deep, deep down, below the sarcasm and crass.  

“My favorite arachnid! My Web Head! My Spidey! Spider-Boy! Arachnid Baby! Spandex Booty!” Wade greets.

Peter says nothing for a moment, sniffing. He looks at Wade pointedly.

Wade cocks his head, takes careful steps closer. He lets the bag drop to the ground. “Uh. What the fuck did you get yourself into?” He asks then, raising his hands tentatively to peer at the web.

“I got stuck,” Peter says dejectedly, head down.

“No shit, Sugar,” Wade says loudly, punctuated by a confused laugh. “How - what - what kinda _bondage...”_

Peter’s belly churns and his cheeks flush. “Wade! This... this is not bondage! I got a little roughed up during patrolling and wanted to nap before I went home!” he bursts. “But my powers - when I get too stressed sometimes it’s hard to focus and control them, and I got stuck, and now I _can’t -”_

Peter can’t _believe_ he’s about to have a panic attack in front of Wade. He’s not sure Wade would hold it against him, but Peter isn’t fond of him knowing regardless. He’s supposed to have better control over all of this. He's old enough now.

“Hey. Hey, Webs, alright! It’s all good,” Wade says, his voice taking on a calmer tone, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“It’s okay,” he promises, slowly, like he isn’t used to consoling others. Or, at least not used to it as _Deadpool._ Out of the mask, though? Peter isn't sure.

Peter nods adamantly, stiffening his jaw and trying to yank himself off again. Every time he tries, he only feels like he’s more stuck, his body getting pulled back into the webbing.

“It’s okay, Spidey. Don’t start flailing,” Wade murmurs, walking around Peter, much like a predator would inspect prey. He knows Wade is just looking at the damage, but still, his residual anxiety makes him unsettled. Peter licks dried blood off his lips and watches Wade warily.

“Uh. Yeah. I’m gonna cut you out,” Wade says matter-of-factly, and promptly brandishes a switchblade. The hilt is black, and the blade is an oil-slicked pinkish black.

Peter recoils, eyes widening under the mask. He knows Wade is one of the best swordsmen in, well, the world. So he swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods his agreement.

Wade takes another look at the situation, before dropping down to his knees. Peter raises his brows and casts Wade a warning glance.

“Ah, don’t worry, Web Head. I won’t cop a feel while I’m down here,” he says with a faint laugh.

“But you need to stay, like, really fucking still. I’m gonna cut the webbing between your thighs,” he says sternly, and Peter looks down to find that Wade is unfortunately right.

“Oh.” Peter’s voice breaks. Wade’s mask stretches around a smug smile.

He stays grinning for a moment before realizing he's met with silence. Deadpool looks up to find Spider-Man's hands hovering anxiously around his waist, chest still heaving. "Hey, now," Deadpool hums quietly, "I'm not gonna hurt you, Spidey. I promise. Okay?" Wade cocks his head, blade hovering around his side.

Peter nods, says _okay_ more sternly this time. Wade nods back.

Whistling the theme to _Full House,_ Wade takes hold of Peter’s thigh, and carefully cuts every cord of webbing from between his legs. Wade’s eyes are trained and his hands are steady and unwavering.

Peter isn’t sure whether to feel relieved, at ease, or uncomfortable, so he settles for a healthy mix of all three.

After several moments, Wade pulls the rest of the webbing from Peter’s legs, tossing it aside. “Money shot,” he smiles.

“You’re gross,” Peter says, curling his toes.

“Welcome back!” Wade beams, “So glad that regularly-scheduled attitude Spidey is back with us.”

Peter does have to admit that focusing so much on Wade has calmed his frantic heartbeat, and distracted his head.

Wade stands, puts the switch blade back into one of his pouches, and pulls out a serrated knife. He takes Peter’s wrist and saws until the webbing splits apart like broken guitar strings. It took significantly less time than the legs.

“Why didn’t you just use the serrated knife on my thighs?” Peter asks curiously, a bit frustrated.

Wade looks up at Peter in surprise for a moment before answering wryly, as if knowing Spider-Man thought he was up to no good. “I’m not putting a serrated knife _anywhere near_ your femoral artery,” he says, tapping quickly at Peter’s inner thigh.

Peter inclines his head in understanding. He should’ve realized that instead of complaining.

“Or your cock,” Wade adds belatedly, and Peter flushes, immediately feeling less guilty.

“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles, and Wade hums.

"Of course. Wouldn't wanna damage the goods," he says earnestly, and Peter feels an odd mix of emotions in his belly.

Together, the two of them pull the ropes of web away, and Peter steps out of his makeshift hammock.

Five minutes later, Peter feels sturdy enough on his feet to swing home, and Wade is picking sadly at his cold Taco Bell food.

“Thanks for, uh, y’know. All of that,” Peter says, hands tapping awkwardly at his sides.

Wade nods, crossing his arms. “Always happy to help, Spidey. But you owe me new Taco Bell,” he says, shoving a finger against the spider decal on Peter's chest. Peter rocks back on his heels good-naturedly.

“Deal,” Peter promises. “Next time I get stuck in my own web, I’ll be sure to bring my wallet.”

Wade chuckles, tossing the soggy bag down onto the roof. Peter wants to point out the blatant littering, but he’s too tired and sore.

“Whatever. Go home and ice your lip. You’re gettin’ a nice black-and-blue,” he warns.

This is what confuses Peter about Wade. Sometimes, he’s a ruthless, cunning, intelligent mercenary who will not hesitate to take kill shots and maim people. Other times, he is soft and funny and protective, and borderline _gentle._ Inappropriate behavior and crudeness aside, Wade Wilson is… weird, and contains multitudes.

He pats Peter fondly on the back, and begins to climb back down from the roof.

Right as Peter is about to shoot his first web home, Wade calls out, “And remember! Next time, use some protection first!”

Peter sighs, cringing at the thought of his words.

Wade Wilson certainly is weird, and certainly does contain multitudes.

**Author's Note:**

> YEAAA BOI 
> 
> i hope you all liked that! as always, PLEASE check out my other spideypool fics here!
> 
> DON'T FORGET TO like and comment!
> 
> ig: petr.prkr  
> tumblr: petr-prkr


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